Loose Canon: Following Too Closely
by The Sound and the Fury
Summary: What if Bella had called Edward on his behavior when he tailed her home from La Push? What might have happened if she actually stood up for herself? Bella/Edward the way it should have been.
1. Revenge

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**Loose Canon**

******o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

_It came out of nowhere. One minute there was nothing but bright highway in my rearview mirror. The next minute, the sun was glinting off a silver Volvo right on my tail._

_The Volvo followed inches behind me. I kept my eyes on the road ahead._ (_Eclipse_, pgs. 131-32)

I tried to figure out what could have brought him back early, when I hadn't even decided to leave for La Push until about ten seconds before I actually got in the truck. It took a moment to realize that Alice had to have seen me — or, rather, _not _seen me — and called him. Edward would have been on his way the instant he heard her voice, and I'd been at Jacob's long enough for him to get back from wherever they'd been hunting. I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. Edward would think that I'd planned this, that I'd waited until he was gone in order to sneak off and visit Jacob.

I kept my speed steady as I continued on toward Angela's. I certainly wasn't about to stop and listen to him scream at me. As I drove, however, I found my guilt being gradually replaced by anger. I hadn't done anything wrong. I wasn't a child, wandering off when I'd been warned to stay in the yard. Edward wasn't my father. We were supposed to be in love, which ought to imply equality, at least insofar as basic rights were concerned. Maybe I wasn't talented like he was, or pretty like Rosalie, but he didn't have to make me feel so damned inferior all the time.

And this wasn't right, I thought, checking my rearview mirror again. Usually, when he was being overprotective, I could at least excuse it by saying that he wanted to keep me safe, and that I was pretty much incapable of keeping _myself _safe. I knew his concerns about the wolves, and to be perfectly honest, I couldn't help but wonder sometimes if my visits to Jacob were truly as harmless as I'd assured Edward. Sam, who purportedly loved Emily so deeply, had permanently disfigured her in a fit of rage. Jacob and I often disagreed; who knew what might happen if one day I made him really angry?

But following me _home_ from Jacob's . . . following me as I drove _away_ from the danger, rather than toward it . . . that was completely unnecessary. Edward wasn't trying to protect me. He wasn't concerned about my safety, not in that moment. He was conveying his displeasure. He was letting me know in no uncertain terms that I had been bad and that there would be further discussion. I couldn't read minds, nor did I have the superior hearing of a vampire, but I could practically hear Edward growling, _"Just wait until I get you home . . ."_

_Exactly_ as though I were a child.

I knew I was being petty, but I started to wish I had some way to hurt Edward. To punish him for making me feel like I had to take orders from him. God, how I _wished_ his family weren't all . . . well, what they were. If things were normal, I could surely arrange for him to get in trouble with his parents. Or at least with Charlie. Then again, if things were normal . . . I wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.

The minutes ticked by, agonizingly slow. I had never found the trip to or from Jacob's to be so onerously long — but then, it was amazing how tedious a drive could be when someone was tailgating less than a foot behind you. Edward's shadowing of my truck reminded me of a bumper sticker I'd seen once: _If You're Not A Hemorrhoid, GET OFF MY ASS!_ At the time, I found that to be a particularly crass and vulgar sentiment. But thinking about it finally gave me an idea. I relaxed as I felt my face breaking suddenly into a grin.

Once, when I'd first gotten my license in Phoenix, my friend Jillian had let me drive the red convertible she'd gotten for her sixteenth birthday. It was pretty late, maybe one in the morning, and we'd been stopped at an intersection when this old black clunker went speeding by her car and ran the light. When it changed, we'd tortured him a bit by riding his back bumper for miles and miles. It was kind of nice, the thought that we must be making him nervous, and both of us were giggling like crazy . . . right up until he'd slammed on his brakes.

Had his car been any newer or Jillian's any older, we would probably have pulled into her driveway in a tow truck that night. But his brakes were ready to give out anyway, and he skidded quite a bit. Hers, of course, being new, had a hair trigger, and when I stomped instinctively on the brake pedal, my head almost hit the windshield despite having my seat belt on and the steering wheel in front of me. My chest slammed into the wheel so hard the horn went off.

In this case, the situation was the exact opposite; I had the beater car while Edward was driving the sleek showroom model. But the road was slick with the leftover rain from this morning, and in an effort to keep me safe — though he always claimed it was like trying to nail Jell-O to the wall — Edward himself had insisted that Rosalie replace my brakes. Though I wasn't oblivious enough not to sense his sister's animosity towards me, I could hardly picture her placing my life in danger with inferior work. If for no other reason than that she took such pride in her mechanical skills, I knew my brakes were probably even tighter than Edward's.

I smiled even wider and gradually sped up to fifty, pushing the tired old truck's limits. The silver Volvo increased its speed in such perfect tandem that the headlights in my rearview mirror never changed their position. Keeping my stronger right hand steady on the wheel, I slid the left one into my jacket pocket and pulled out my cell. Carefully watching the road, only taking my eyes from it for a second to find the '2,' I pressed it and held down. '1' was the speed dial for my voicemail; '2' was Edward.

I cradled the phone against my shoulder (only for show; I didn't plan to talk) and placed both hands steadily on the wheel again. Now my eyes flickered back and forth between the road and my rearview mirror. I knew the second Edward's phone began ringing, because one of his pale hands disappeared off the steering wheel — fumbling, I would imagine, in his jacket pocket as I had a moment ago. I waited for the split second when he would take his eyes off the road to check who was calling.

It all happened very quickly. I saw Edward's head drop as he looked at the phone's lighted display, which illuminated his paper-white skin in the semi-darkness behind the tinted windows of the Volvo. I eased up on the gas, letting the truck slow for two or three seconds, knowing that he would hear the change in the engine if I let it go much longer. Finally, when the Volvo's windshield had all but disappeared below the tail of my truck as Edward's speed continued unchecked, I took a deep breath and stomped both feet on the brake pedal.

The sudden stop made me lurch forward, so I didn't get to watch Edward's reaction in my rearview mirror. It was enough, for me, to _hear_ it.

When Charlie had first shown me my truck, its hulking frame had immediately brought to mind pictures from highway smash-ups, where a behemoth like my Chevy stood firm next to the mangled remains of some late-model sedan, without so much as a paint scrape to serve as a souvenir of the altercation. I remembered sitting in the cab the first time and feeling . . . powerful. Invincible.

Now I had proof. I felt the impact, of course, when Edward's Volvo slammed into me from behind, but the truck didn't actually move at all. Like a child forced to bend to the will of an elder, for lack of a more appropriate comparison, the young Volvo crumpled around the side of the unyielding hunk of steel that was my rock. There came a rapid succession of screeches from the abused metal before I caught a flash of silver in my side mirror . . . and turned my head just in time to see Edward's car go spinning into the ditch that ran alongside the road. With a glorious crash, the Volvo finally came to rest, nose up at an impossible angle. The front wheels were still turning, though each revolution brought them closer and closer to stopping completely. Everything had happened so quickly, and yet the silence still came as something of a shock as I put the truck in neutral and set the parking brake.

Instinctively, a laugh bubbled up in my throat at just how perfectly my plan had worked. But in the nick of time, I managed to choke it back as I began to panic. Edward was going to be _furious._ I was all alone out on a deserted road, and he was strong enough even to hurt me _accidentally._ How would it be now that he was angry? I found myself being torn by conflicting emotions. On one hand, I was scared to death of Edward's wrath. On the other, I resented the fact that he had so much power over me, power enough to hurt me just for standing up for myself (as passive-aggressive as my gesture of defiance had been). I shouldn't have to be afraid of the man who claimed to love me more than his own existence.

Being thrust forward over the steering wheel, however, gave me an idea. Quickly, before I could chicken out, I let my neck bend the rest of the way and deliberately bumped my head against the edge of the wheel. It hurt, but not enough to make me cry, and probably not enough to even raise a bump. I certainly wasn't about to do it _again_, though. Knowing I only had half a minute at best before he'd be wrenching my door open, I frantically tried to conjure up some tears. But I'm not much of a crier even under normal circumstances, and the thought of his Volvo lying in the ditch almost made me start to laugh instead.

I could hear metal protesting as Edward opened his door, so I cast around for some sad thought to make me cry. I usually didn't think of the day he left me in the woods — when the memory occasionally arose against my will, I always stomped it hard and threw it back down into the dark morass of grief from whence it came. This time, however, I welcomed the pain, deliberately replaying every agonizing detail and milking the recollection for every last drop of hurt I could squeeze from it. By the time Edward reached my truck and threw open the door, tears were flowing freely down my face and I was taking great gulps of air to feed a series of wailing sobs. My palm was pressed tightly to my forehead as if to hold my very skull together, and my other hand was curled protectively between my breasts.

I wasn't looking at Edward, so I don't know for sure if he _had_ even been angry to begin with. But even if that were true, it all melted away when he saw me crying. "Bella? Bella! Are you all right?" he shouted frantically, pulling himself up by the doorframe so he could lean into the cab.

"No!" I blubbered, pushing back against him. "No, don't! My head — I think it's bleeding. You'd better — "

"Oh, my God." There was a slight pause, and then I felt his cold fingers trying to pry mine away from my face.

_"No!"_

"It's okay, love, I'm not breathing. Let me see." I resisted again, but after a moment, allowed him to lift my hand and gently probe my forehead. "It's all right, Bella, it's just red there. But we'd better get you to the hospital."

"I don't want to!" I wailed petulantly, taking another deep, shuddering breath. "I wanna go ho — home . . ."

"Shhh . . ." Edward pulled me against his chest and cradled me there protectively. Then, abruptly, he pulled back from our embrace. "What's wrong with your hand?"

I had forgotten my left hand, which was nestled between my breasts and had formed a hard lump between us for the brief moment he'd held me. I groped for an explanation. "I, um . . . I put my hand out to stop myself, and it bent backwards," I explained in a tiny voice.

"Jesus, Bella . . ." Edward sounded ready to cry himself. "What if it's broken? I've _got_ to get you to the hospital."

"_No hospital!"_ I shrieked. No way was I going there if I didn't absolutely have to. The hospital reminded me of James. I frantically tried to find some way out. "I don't . . . I don't want Charlie to find out," I explained, knowing the excuse was feeble at best.

Edward was gently stroking my hair and making soft _shh _noises. "Sweetheart, at least let me take you to Carlisle," he pleaded. "God, I'm so _sorry,_ baby . . ."

Carlisle, yes. I felt a surge of glee at the very thought of taking my 'injuries' to Carlisle. While it wasn't likely that Edward's dad would have interfered had I simply gone to him and complained about his son's behavior, he could hardly just ignore me after Edward had caused a car accident. Edward ought to get quite the lecture over this one. Once again, I thanked my lucky stars that Edward couldn't read my mind . . . but also that Jasper wasn't there to feel my sudden excitement. I pretended to mull it over, sniffling as Edward stroked my wrist. "Okay," I finally murmured, as though reluctantly accepting the inevitable.

"Can you move over, love? Or should I carry you around?" Edward asked softly, smoothing my hair back from my face.

I scooted over gingerly, grateful there was no center console to maneuver my legs over. I used my right wrist for leverage, keeping my 'hurt' left one in my lap. Edward waited until I was settled, then in one fluid movement he was behind the wheel and pulling the door shut behind him. He leaned over and kissed me, nuzzling our foreheads together, before settling back into his seat and reaching for the parking brake.

"Edward, the rabbit," I said, reaching over and tugging urgently at his sleeve.

"What rabbit?"

"The little grey bunny," I fibbed, gazing at him beseechingly. "Did I hit it? God, please tell me it got away. Did it?"

"You . . . you stopped on a dime for a _rabbit?"_ Edward cried, incredulous. His hand dropped from the brake handle and hung suspended over the edge of the seat.

"Well, what was I supposed to do, just run it over?"

"You could have a concussion and a fractured wrist, and all over a _rabbit?_" he roared furiously.

Once again, I grasped at my memories of his leaving, which were much easier to recall this time. I let fresh tears drip down my face, making dark stains appear on my shirt.

"Why do you have to _yell_ at me all the time?" I whimpered tearfully. "Do you even _care_ how bad it makes me feel?" My lower lip started to quiver as I stared down at my trembling hands.

"Bella . . ." In the blink of an eye, Edward was right up next to me, his arms around my shoulders and his face pressed to mine. "Baby, don't cry," he whispered against my ear. "I'm sorry."

"You're always bellowing at me," I mewled. "You make me feel two inches tall."

"Shh . . ."

"It's not _fair!_" I cried. "You're supposed to be my love, not my master." It wasn't really an act anymore. Thinking of Edward's car roaring down the road, chasing me like a hound closing in on the very rabbit I had just fabricated, really did make me cry even harder.

Edward's arms tightened convulsively around me. "Baby . . ." he said helplessly, "I never think of you that way. I _do_ love you; you're my only love. My reason for existing."

"What if it were Jacob?" I protested. "What if he followed me home from your house, three inches from my truck? What if he yelled at me for making him crash after he made me so damn nervous in the first place? What would you say then?"

"It's not the same thing," Edward stated emphatically.

"How is it different? Because you're a vampire and _supposedly_ have more control?"

"The wolves — you saw what happened to your friend Emily!" he sputtered.

She wasn't really my friend, but I wasn't going to argue the point. "They're no more dangerous than you are," I countered. "No one ever attacked me for bleeding from a paper cut at La Push."

Edward slammed his fist down on the dashboard hard enough to make me jump. "I won't have you putting yourself in danger to go spend quality time with that _mutt!_" he growled through clenched teeth.

I glared at him hatefully. "You won't have me at _all_ if you don't stop ordering me around," I snapped back. "Jacob was my friend before I knew you, and he kept being my friend after you _left._" I didn't miss how Edward's face contorted in response to the veiled accusation, transforming from anger to grief in a few short seconds. He turned slowly away from me and stared straight ahead out the windshield, his jaw clenched.

My mind was screaming at me not to say anything else, but something had snapped when I found myself being forcibly escorted back to Forks. I took a deep breath and plunged on recklessly. "I'm not going to be told what to do, Edward. This isn't about the wolves. If I were friends with Sam, who already imprinted on Emily, or with Seth . . . in other words, someone who could never be a romantic interest . . . then you wouldn't care. With Jacob, it isn't about my safety. It's about your jealousy and your need to control me."

Edward's hands were gripping the edge of the seat so tightly that I could see a rip forming on this side of the upholstery. I made my parting shot. "If you truly love me and want to marry me, then this has to stop. I'll see whomever I please. If you can't accept that . . . then I guess I'll be driving myself to Angela's today."

When I finished, I turned my head away from him and stared stonily out the windshield, just as he had been doing while I gave my ultimatum. My heart was pounding away in my chest, and I wished there was some way to hide the sound from him. I wanted to appear strong, not afraid. But there was no help for it, and all I could do was wait for him to respond.

When Edward had left me in the meadow, his departure was so swift and silent that I could hardly believe he'd been there at all. I remembered how I'd spent hours walking the paths, clinging desperately to the hope that maybe he was only human, after all, and couldn't have gone far. But when he left me this time, it happened slowly. He might have been human the way he opened the driver's side door to the truck and carefully stepped out, slamming it shut and moving away in measured strides . . . when I know that if I'd paused to blink, he could easily have been halfway home before my eyes opened again.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, my heartbeat quickening until it was almost a buzz in my ears. He'd left me, after all. Was I supposed to feel pain? Did one feel the moment the bullet struck the heart, stopping the flow of life? Shouldn't there be something, some last desperate grappling for purchase from a body deprived of the very air it depended on for sustenance?

Then the door was opening again and he was back, sliding behind the wheel as gracefully as a gazelle — inanely, I wondered what a gazelle would ever be doing driving a truck — and again there was silence. Finally, he muttered, "The rabbit got away."

It took a moment before my addled brain could comprehend what he'd said. _What rabbit?_ Were we speaking in code now? _Oh-my-ears-and-whiskers-I'm-late-I'm-late-I'm-late . . . _Or had my mind finally blown its last surviving microchip?

Then it hit me. Of course; the rabbit I'd been worried I ran over. For the third or fourth time now, I sent up a quick thanks to whomever might be listening that Edward couldn't read my thoughts. I suddenly felt such relief, knowing that Edward hadn't been about to leave me after all. I opened my mouth — to say what, I have no idea — but he interrupted before I got so much as a word out.

"You were right, Bella." I was stunned. In my limited experience with men, I knew those were three words that they absolutely _loathe_ to utter. Had Edward ever . . . ? No, I'd always been the one to defer to him. But strangely, I didn't feel excited, or smug, or much of anything, really. I just waited.

Edward let out a completely unnecessary breath and continued. "I am" — he spat the word out unwillingly — "_jealous_ of the m — of Jacob. Because . . . because he was there when I abandoned you, and because . . ." I heard a catch in Edward's voice. "You won't marry me, and I'm afraid it's because of him." Now Edward was the one waiting. Waiting for me to collect my scattered thoughts and respond to his ridiculous statement.

"Edward," I answered slowly. "The reason I won't marry you has nothing whatsoever to do with Jacob. I just don't want to end up like my parents. I can't imagine my life without you."

The corner of his mouth twitched up. "So you're refusing to marry me in order to keep us together?" he asked. He gave a humorless laugh. "That's a catch-22 if I ever heard one."

"I'm not . . . saying that I'll never agree to it," I replied cautiously, not wanting to get his hopes up. "I just . . . we have all eternity, after all." I sighed, feeling incredibly drained. "Edward, I'm so tired. Can you please take me home?"

"No." I felt a spark of anger flare up again. Had we reverted to the old way so quickly, with him making all the decisions without asking, or even caring, how I felt about them? But Edward's voice broke into my thoughts again, and I relaxed when I heard why he was refusing. "I'll take you to my house. I'm still worried you might have a concussion." He gave me a sidelong smirk. "One of the symptoms is behavior that's out of character, after all."

I started to panic. Oh, God, what if I really _had_ given myself a concussion? But . . . I hadn't hit my head nearly as hard as the day he'd saved me from Tyler's van, and that time I'd escaped injury, so surely this wouldn't . . . ? "Okay," I agreed, willing to let Carlisle take a look. After all, I was still hoping to get Edward a lecture or _something._ Edward put the truck into gear, and with one last grimace at his ruined Volvo, we were speeding off toward his house.

Neither of us said much on the ride there; I reckon I'd said plenty already, and Edward seemed too distracted for conversation. I thought regretfully of Angela, who would be all alone with her invitations this afternoon. I'd have to call her and apologize; surely she'd understand when she heard about the accident.

When we got to the Cullens', Edward pulled right up near the front porch and insisted that I stay in the car until he could come around the side and help me.

"Edward, I don't walk on my left wrist," I protested, but his door had barely had time to slam shut before mine was opening, and then he was gathering me into his arms and carrying me toward the house.

As we approached the front door, I carefully twisted my head around so I could look back over his shoulder at my truck. Edward's car was now a crumpled mass of twisted metal lying in a ditch halfway to La Push; had my Chevy also suffered injuries?

The truck, washed clean by the morning's rain, glistened in the sunlight. I smiled.

Not a scratch.


	2. Forgiveness

I didn't like the way Carlisle was looking at me. Not one bit.

He didn't say a word as he gently probed my wrist and pressed his fingertips lightly against my forehead. I winced when he reached the spot where I'd deliberately banged my head against the steering wheel. I'd hurt myself more than I'd intended to, and even Carlisle's light touch was making the throbbing worse.

He had been silent ever since Edward had finished explaining the accident — leaving out our conversation and a few minor details concerning his reasons for following me, of course.

I sat very still while he checked my eyes and asked me a few questions about how I was feeling. Then I followed him, and Edward, down the hall into a small room I'd never seen before. It appeared that Carlisle had his own lab set up here at the house, and the room held several pieces of medical equipment, including an x-ray machine. When I asked what in the world he needed an x-ray machine for, Carlisle only smiled and said, "Research."

I'd been x-rayed before, of course, more times than I cared to think about. When you're as coordinated as I am, that comes with the territory. But there was something exciting about having it done in Edward's house, with someone I knew well doing the procedure. It was also nice not having to rush so the next patient could be seen, and watching Carlisle hang up the scans on the lighted board. Though I never considered x-rays to be something desirable, it was kind of neat knowing I could have more taken, and see the rest of my bones on display if I liked. I felt the same way when Renee brought home that button press when I was twelve, and suddenly I could design as many new buttons as I wanted. Or at least until we ran out of supplies.

But Carlisle had fallen silent again as he studied the pictures of my skull on the wall, and I began to get nervous. Carlisle wasn't usually chatty by any means, but this was too quiet, even for him. And while Edward was standing right next to my seat and rubbing my back, the gesture seemed perfunctory. He was eyeing his father just as nervously as I'd been doing. I wondered what Carlisle could be thinking.

After a few moments, Carlisle sighed. "There is no evidence of a skull fracture, nor does there appear to be any internal bleeding. I will give you a list of concussion symptoms, and Bella? I expect you to call me _immediately_ if you experience anything on that list. Is that understood?" I nodded mutely. "And now I would appreciate if you would wait for Edward in his room," he continued. "You ought to lie down for a while, and I need to speak with my son."

I glanced over at Edward and saw that he was staring miserably at his feet. Whatever Carlisle was thinking right now was making Edward feel terrible, that much was obvious. Suddenly, _I_ felt bad for my part in this. Sure, I was still angry at him for treating me like a dog that had misbehaved and run away from home, but that didn't mean I liked the idea of Carlisle being this disappointed in him. I knew Edward thought the world of his dad, and now he was in trouble because of me.

I wanted to say something in Edward's defense, but what was there to say? _Carlisle, don't be mad at Edward; he was stalking me for a very good reason . . . and it was my fault there was an accident . . . _While I wasn't nearly as close to Carlisle as the rest of them were, I _wanted_ to be, and I had a lot of respect for him. His disapproval would really hurt.

"Bella." Carlisle's voice was firm. Reluctantly, with a last glance at Edward's unhappy face, I slid down off the contoured chair and did what Carlisle had asked, leaving the two men alone in the small laboratory.

* * *

It seemed like I waited in Edward's room for hours, but the clock on his stereo would have had me believe that it was only about twenty-five minutes. Yet if he had been in here with me, a CD playing in the background as he told me stories about his life before we'd met or read to me in that soothing voice of his, I probably wouldn't notice what time it was until he shut the book and said he'd better drive me home.

The sunlight was fading, and it made me feel sad that one of our rare sunny days had been wasted like this. Of course, I would have been at Angela's anyway, and at least this way I did get to see Edward, though the circumstances could have been better. But it still hurt to see the light dying, knowing it could be weeks before the sun really shone again. I was so absorbed in this melancholy that I jumped about a foot when the door opened and Edward came into the room.

His face looked very strange to me — kind of tight, as though he were carefully concealing his emotions. He actually looked like he might have been crying, although of course that was impossible. But minus the tears and the red around the eyes and nose, Edward's face reminded me very much of my own, all the countless times I'd cried for him over the long, dead winter.

He stopped in front of the sofa and gave me a tired smile. "Come on downstairs. I'd better drive you home." My heart started to pound at his tone, and the way his eyes flickered past me as he stood there and waited for me to get up. "Um, well . . . can't I stay here?" I hedged. I didn't really want to go home to an empty house, and his attitude was scaring me. He was acting very distant, just like he had before they left Forks.

Left _me._

Edward shook his head. "Carlisle says you need to rest. I'll stay with you, and I'll need to wake you up a couple times tonight. Unless, of course, you'd like to tell Charlie about the accident so he can watch you."

I definitely didn't want that, but even though he said he'd be with me, I was still a little wary of Edward's attitude. But I obediently heaved myself off the sofa and followed Edward downstairs. He didn't say a word the whole time. The silence was making me so nervous that by the time he opened the passenger door and helped me into the cab of the truck, the hand I gave him was slick with sweat and my breath was coming only as short, shallow gasps for air.

If Edward noticed, he didn't say anything, which only made me feel worse. If he didn't notice, I had to wonder why. What had happened in Carlisle's lab? Had they been talking about me? Had Carlisle told Edward he shouldn't see me anymore because of Jacob? Or had he done exactly what I wanted — given him a stern lecture for harassing me — and now Edward was angry with me for getting him in trouble?

Edward slammed my door and within seconds was on the other side of the truck, easing himself into the driver's seat. All this time, not a word had he spoken to me. Apparently, he was planning to ignore me for the rest of the day, and I was almost resentful enough not to care. When he tried put the key in the ignition, though, I knew I couldn't last through another one of his sulks, so I reached out and caught his arm. "Edward, what happened?" I demanded.

He paused, glancing over in my general direction but not quite meeting my eyes. "What do you mean? Carlisle and I had a talk, that's all."

"That's all?"

"He reamed me out pretty well. I have a feeling I haven't heard the last from him, either," Edward admitted.

"I just can't believe it," I marveled. "He seems so nice."

"He _is_ nice," Edward retorted. "He's the nicest, kindest man you'll ever meet. This doesn't change that. I don't like it, but . . . he's my father. And I messed up."

I didn't answer, just unbuckled my seatbelt and started to push open the creaky passenger door. "Wait, Bella — where are you going?" Edward asked, sounding exasperated as he reached out to touch my arm.

"I'm going to talk to your dad," I said, sliding out of the cab and onto the driveway. When I turned to slam the door shut, Edward had already come around to my side of the car and was standing in my way.

"Whatever for?"

Good question. I wasn't entirely sure _what_ I was going to say to Carlisle. I just knew that I couldn't leave things as they were. Everything had gone just as I'd intended in that brief moment coming back from La Push . . . yet in its own way, everything had gone wrong, too. "I just — I didn't know he was going to . . ." I stammered. "I – I'd better talk to him. He shouldn't blame you for everything."

Edward gave me a patient smile. "Who else is he going to blame, Bella?" he asked. "I was following too closely and couldn't make the car stop in time. You could have been seriously hurt, and all because I was . . . jealous." His hand came up to touch the slight bump on my forehead. I held my breath, hoping it wouldn't hurt like it had when Carlisle had touched it, but Edward only ghosted his fingers over the swollen spot before dropping his hand to caress my cheek. "He said some things . . . and we're going to talk more later." Edward grimaced. "I think I'm in for quite a lecture."

Seeing that Edward wasn't going to let me pass, I turned on my heel and stomped around the truck the long way. But Edward was faster, of course. He didn't try to stand in my way or anything, but he kept pace with me as I headed back into the house. "Bella, please just let me drive you home," he pleaded with me. "Just forget about it." But I wouldn't listen to him. If he had tried to physically restrain me, I would probably have screamed for Carlisle, but it never came to that. Edward gave up after a moment and fell reluctantly into step behind me as I marched upstairs.

Carlisle had heard me coming; he stepped out of the study even before I reached the top of the stairs, concern etched onto his kind face. "Are you feeling sick, Bella?" he asked.

"Uh, no," I said, pausing on the top step, my hand gripping the banister. "Um . . . could I talk to you?"

Carlisle didn't look very surprised at my request. His eyes flickered past me to Edward, who was standing on the step below me. "Edward? Will you give us some privacy, please?" he said quietly.

I couldn't see Edward's face, but I could sense his reluctance to leave by the way he lingered behind me still. "No, I want him here," I protested. "He needs to hear this, too." _And not when I'm alone with him,_ I added to myself. I cringed when I thought of how Edward might react once he knew the truth.

Once we were all in the study, I stood awkwardly in the center of the room, Edward not far from my left shoulder, as Carlisle closed the door and walked over to his desk. He turned and leaned back against the edge, resting his weight there as he crossed his arms and nodded at me. "Is something troubling you, Bella?"

I don't know what I'd been planning on saying as I'd been on my way upstairs, but now that I was actually here in his study, my mind was conveniently blank in any case. I'd always been somewhat in awe of Carlisle; he was so dignified and beautiful that I never knew how I should act around him. So there was an awkward silence for a long moment, until I just blurted out, "Edward told me you . . . kind of . . . yelled. At him." My face heated up at the idea of discussing this with him. And Carlisle's reaction didn't help; he merely raised his eyebrows and nodded, but without saying a word.

"Well, um . . . I don't think you ought to blame Edward for everything," I said awkwardly. "I'm just as responsible for the accident."

"_Was_ it an accident, Bella?" he asked, low.

I could feel Edward's eyes boring into me, but I didn't look back at him. For a split second, I considered lying, but one look at Carlisle's face told me that would be the wrong move. "He was so mean," I whispered instead. "He was following me like I was a dog that ran away. Like I wasn't a person to him anymore." I stared down at my sneakers, crossing my arms tight against my chest as though to protect myself. "I got so angry."

"So angry that you knowingly wrecked Edward's car to repay him?" Carlisle's voice was stony. I nodded mutely, cringing at his tone. Now I knew how Edward must have felt. Carlisle's displeasure was like a knife twisting deeper and deeper into my stomach with each word.

I was still staring at my feet, but I could hear Edward's father moving towards me. After a few seconds, his shoes came into my line of sight as he stepped up in front of me. My insides quaked as I wondered what he was going to do. I saw his hand in front of my face and instinctively jerked my head back, but he only gently nudged my chin upward so I was looking him square in the eyes, those beautiful golden eyes that were less angry than sad, and still held such compassion that it made my heart ache.

"Anger is how it starts, Bella," he said, his voice tight. "One person gets angry and lashes out, the other lashes back, and suddenly the relationship is damaged beyond repair. Do you realize that Edward could have died?"

My heart skipped a beat, then began pounding away like a jackhammer. "What do you mean?" I asked nervously. "Vampires can't — " My eyes widened in horror as understanding dawned. "My God," I whispered, my hands flying up to press against my forehead as Carlisle dropped his own hand from my chin. "Oh, no . . . oh, God, no . . ."

"Yes." Just one word. But such finality in it. Like the bells in the Palazzo dei Priori, implacably tolling the hour as I raced across the square, my hope of being in time to save Edward diminishing with each loud echo of my shoes against the uneven stones.

"I didn't think of that," I whimpered piteously. "I swear."

"I do not doubt that. Yet you would have had plenty of time to think about it afterward, yes?" Each of Carlisle's words felt like blows; I felt as though each one had struck my heart hard enough to leave a bruise, if such a thing were possible.

"I just didn't know what to do," I said, my voice cracking. "He wouldn't listen to me. He never listens. Not when it matters." I heard Edward hiss softly, but Carlisle's voice interrupted him.

"You could have come to me," Carlisle said. "You could have asked me for help. Avoiding the problem meant holding your anger and resentment inside to fester. Did you think it would be that easy to run away from your feelings?"

I shook my head mutely, although I _had,_ really. I assumed that that was what relationships were about: hiding my anger and petty yearnings so I could give myself completely to Edward. I had him; didn't he deserve me, _all _of me, in return?

"Edward told me that he came very close to breaking the treaty today. He had no way of knowing what was happening inside the boundary and was frantic. Do you know what that would mean?"

"A fight," I whispered, horrified. "They'd use any excuse for a fight. Someone could be hurt."

"Someone _would_ be hurt, Bella. Probably killed. And all so you could visit Jacob."

"But he's my friend!" I cried. "He was my friend the whole time you were gone. I had _no one_ but Jake that whole time! Now I'm supposed to throw him away like a used Kleenex because you so generously came back?"

Carlisle flinched at my words, and I felt a horrible satisfaction in the fact that I'd been able to pierce his armor, if only slightly. But when he spoke, it was clear he wasn't going to back down. "I regret, now, the actions I allowed us to take at the time. We were only acting to protect you, Bella, and I cannot begin to express how sorry I am at what you obviously went through as a result." My nose started to burn, and I knew I would be crying soon if he didn't finish. "However," he continued, "at no time has Edward indicated to me that you discussed this with him prior to this afternoon. And if you feel that causing a car accident and then blurting out everything you have been holding in is the same as 'discussing,' then yes, you are just as guilty as he is."

Now I understood Edward's expression from before. If Carlisle could say these things out loud, to me, what must he have been thinking before when he was checking me for injuries? I had a lot of respect for Carlisle, too, but Edward? He just about worshiped this man. His dead heart had to be breaking right now. I wanted to defend myself, but what was there to say? "Carl — " My voice cracked on the first syllable, and his name turned into a wail of anguish that I couldn't stop from escaping, and once it did, it was as though a dam had burst. I turned away from them and pressed my hand to my mouth, but that didn't quiet the sobs that ripped from my throat. I just couldn't stop, and no longer cared who could hear or how pathetic I sounded.

Then Carlisle's were on my shoulders, turning me back around, and his arms were holding me safe against him. I buried my face against his chest, my body limp and trembling with exhaustion accumulated over this whole stressful day. His hand was already gently rubbing against my back, and he shushed me softly when my sobs spiked in volume. Then he was leading me around his desk, and when he started to pull away from me I panicked, desperately clinging to his shirt as though he were my lifejacket. But he was only seating himself in his leather chair, and as soon as he had, he picked me up as though I weighed no more than a sack of feathers and lifted me onto his lap. The chair creaked as he reclined it backwards, and then he was gently pulling me down to lay against his chest. I sank into his arms and closed my eyes, so grateful to have him supporting me that I was almost weak with the relief of it. I didn't want to ever get up again.

I had never been this close to Carlisle before. He smelled so nice — like vanilla and woodsmoke. Charlie usually smelled like Old Spice, but then again, I couldn't remember ever being held by my father. Maybe when I was really little; I don't know. He'd never been particularly affectionate, and I chalked it up to how little we saw of each other, even now. But Carlisle was holding me close, like I was a little girl who'd had a nightmare. I wondered if he ever held any of his other 'kids' like this. I could hardly imagine proud, haughty Rosalie curling up in his lap like I was. Alice, maybe . . . but even that stretched the imagination.

And then for a long time, nobody said anything at all. My thoughts were so jumbled that I couldn't have ordered them enough to speak in any case, and Carlisle, sensing how conflicted I was, only held me tight and continued to rub the tension out of my back. His movements had such a gentle rhythm to them that I grew drowsy, my thoughts slowing like a carousel winding down, allowing me to pick out the individual horses that previously had been little more than a blur.

Edward moved so silently that I couldn't hear the footsteps, but I could sense him behind me, and I felt his hand brush hesitantly against my shoulder. I couldn't face him, though. Not yet. I buried my face deeper into Carlisle's neck and clung to him even more tightly. His arms around me never loosened, nor did he stop the gentle rocking of his chair. We three stayed that way for a long while: Carlisle holding me, Edward gently stroking my shoulders, and me snuffling into Carlisle's shirt. I didn't know how much time had passed; I didn't have a clock to check like I had in Edward's bedroom, and I didn't want to move from Carlisle's arms, anyhow.

Had Carlisle been human, I probably would have eventually fallen asleep in his arms. The stress of the day was starting to hit me all at once, and I was so comfortable against him that I was starting to feel a little drowsy. Only the coldness that seeped through our clothing kept me awake, and before too long, I was actually shivering. It was then that Carlisle spoke. "You two have some talking to do," he said, loosening his arms around me and shifting in his seat. I knew he wanted me to get up, and I was very reluctant to do that. My stomach clenched at the thought of being alone with Edward, now that he knew the truth about the 'accident.'

I slid off Carlisle's lap and let him stand, but I caught his arm and stared pleadingly into his eyes before he could walk towards the door. Carlisle smiled at me and patted the hand that clung to his shirt fabric. "It will be all right, Bella," he said, looking straight into my eyes. "Edward would never hurt you."

I cringed inside as I heard the low rumble from Edward's throat. Was he growling at me, or at his father? I couldn't tell. But surely Carlisle wouldn't leave me alone if he thought Edward _would_ hurt me, right? And he'd be right in the house with us. Wouldn't he?

I kept my eyes trained on the ground as Carlisle left the study, shutting the door firmly behind him. There was a long silence, during which all I could hear was the faint pounding of my own heartbeat echoing in my ears. Edward didn't move, and he didn't say anything.

I got so nervous that I started twisting my hands together, a soothing, repetitive habit I'd picked up during those months when he'd been gone. I had forced myself to stop doing it in public, but sometimes when I was agitated and no one was watching, I fell back into the rhythmic movements that were as soothing as being rocked, or watching the clouds move across the sky.

Finally, I had to say something. We couldn't just stand there like statues indefinitely. "I, um — " I had to clear my throat and try again. "I shouldn't have gotten us into an accident, Edward," I said. "But . . ." I took a deep breath and forced out the words. "But you shouldn't have been following me home. You had . . . I'm not your dog that ran away. And I was scared to tell you that, so I lashed out instead." Even though it made me sick to do it, I looked up, straight into Edward's face. But instead of anger, I found he was watching me with a very strange expression on his face. It almost looked like grudging admiration.

"I didn't mean to make you afraid," he said at last. "And I'm sorry. I can't believe you told Carlisle the truth when you were so scared to."

I felt my face heating up again. "Well . . . when you were following me like that, I _wanted_ you to get into trouble," I admitted. "But then I realized it wasn't fair. And I don't want our relationship to always be one of us getting back at the other like that." It was a horrible thought, and one that made me feel even more guilty for what I'd done.

"Me, neither," he said softly, taking a step closer and reaching up to caress my cheek. My heart skipped another beat at his touch before breaking into a gallop. _This_ was the Edward I'd fallen in love with — the one who cared about my feelings and treated me like a china doll that could break so easily. For a while, I'd thought his jealousy had driven that Edward away forever, but now he was back. I covered his hand with mine and closed my eyes, just enjoying his touch.

"Carlisle didn't even yell, but he sure made me feel bad," I grumbled.

Edward dropped his hand, and his mouth quirked up at the corners. Not exactly his familiar smile, but close. "He has a knack for that," he agreed. "Sometimes I wish he _would_ yell. Then I could get angry back. But what do you do with a man that just stands there and won't even raise his voice?"

I gave him a small smile in return. "Not much," I said. "I didn't know what to say half the time. And I don't know if he even expected an answer."

"Not really. If you think he's being arbitrary, you can say so, but he's really not wrong very often."

"I guess he knows better than we do," I said tentatively. "He's been around so long, and he keeps his temper so well. And he and your mom are so close. Do they ever even argue?"

Edward cocked his head. "You know, I can't even tell you," he said slowly. "I can't remember the last time, anyway. They disagree sometimes, but never to the point where they get mad or anything."

"I hope we can be like that," I said.

He gave me a smile — not his usual sardonic one, but the old, sweet smile I remembered from when we were first together, before James and the ballet studio and my eighteenth birthday party when everything fell apart. "Then you'll marry me?" he asked, sounding so hopeful that it seemed horribly cruel of me to say anything but _yes._

"I said I would think about it," I reminded him. "I'm sure one day I'll want to, Edward. I'm just asking you not to rush me."

He looked disappointed, but gave me the sweet smile again. "I can wait, I suppose," he said. "Like you said, we do have all eternity." Then he was wrapping me gently in his arms, just like Carlisle had not so long ago. "Love, can you ever forgive me for making you feel cornered like that? Like you were trapped with no way out?" His voice sounded like it might be on the very edge of breaking. "That wasn't how I meant for it to be. I only wanted to protect you, but I was so jealous . . . until you said those things to me in the car, and until my dad said . . . what he did about it, I just didn't see. I'm so sorry."

I melted against him, ready to start crying all over again at the sheer raw emotion he was displaying. As far as I knew, he'd never laid himself open like this. Not to me. For once, he wasn't justifying or telling me that what he did was for my own good. He was asking, maybe even begging, for my forgiveness. "Of course I can," I said automatically, burying my face into his neck. "I know you love me. And now I know I can get you in trouble when you get mean." And as Edward's deep, throaty laughter suddenly rang out through the room, I knew we were all right again.

Yes, he had hurt me deeply, treating me like a possession that he had every right to control at all times. And yes, he might very well slip back into his controlling ways again someday. I'd have to be very careful to spot when that was happening so he didn't take advantage of me. But I knew now that even if I found myself in a place where I became afraid of Edward, or felt I couldn't stop him, I could bring that to Carlisle and know that he would help me make things right.

Carlisle had always been kind to me, as close as any father, and asking nothing in return except that I let him _be_ my father, and treat me like what I was, and would probably be for many, many years: a very young adult. One that was going to need to be set straight on occasion, just as her brothers and sisters and chosen mate did at times. He was the kindest, gentlest man I had ever met, with the strongest sense of fairness and more compassion than I could even begin to fathom. I knew I would never be treated unfairly, or better or worse than the rest of his 'children.'

I could . . . exist . . . with that.

**The End**


End file.
